


Unbridled sword and passion

by elevenelvenswords



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation/Breath-play, Come Eating, M/M, Master/Servant dynamics, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not necessarily non-con but tagged as such just to stay on the safe side, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenelvenswords/pseuds/elevenelvenswords
Summary: Melkor's capriciousness looms over Mairon like an impending doom. He can't quite decide whether to love or abhor the prospect of it.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Kudos: 54





	Unbridled sword and passion

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on tumblr.

Dark clouds stretched across the horizon in the storm’s wake. Nefarious things they were, blocking out the sun’s warmth, depriving the earthly beings of Arien’s gift to the world. The raspy northern winds whipped the horses’ manes across their unsettled faces mercilessly, and the overseers’ attempts to calm them down proved for naught, as they stamped their hooves to the ground nervously. Perhaps it was the absence of light for days on end that kept them in this state of unease. Perhaps it was the cold that settled in the fortress sooner than expected that kept the Black One from his slumber as well- and due to his constant, furious growling in the dark pits, all his brethren seemed to grow furious as well. Aggressive even, if the couple of dozens of orcish bodies was anything to go by.

Closer and closer the clouds drew to their settlements, and darkness fell once they touched Thangorodrim’s murky peaks. It was not disarray that followed -for the Dark Lord’s creatures were raised under the biting kiss of whip and thus came to either blindly love or worship darkness- yet nobody could say activities ran smooth in Angband. Truth be told, they hadn’t run smooth at all in quite a while. Creatures shrunk away in fear and perished: wolves broke free of their masters’ hold, and the remaining ones bit back at the hands that fed them . The great drakes let heat grow in the back of their throats and unleashed it when the captains tried to make them tame again. Hunting parties would not return at all, and nobody could quite pinpoint the exact reason. Well, they could _guess_.

For Mairon, however, it was quite clear what was happening. For though the orcish eyes remained blind to their master’s mood of late, and though the Valaraukar and the vampires busied themselves elsewhere, the lieutenant had been spending most of his time for the past few weeks in his lord’s presence. Reports had to be read aloud -or so Mairon deemed- and a closer inspection of the dungeons where new guests lay warranted both his and his master’s attendance. And it was during all those times spent at his master’s side that Mairon _understood_. He would catch Melkor’s gaze fixed on him whenever he pivoted on his heel to ask for further clarifications in regards to the newest orders, and his master’s gaze would turn into a glare at times. Abject fury would seethe there; it would envelop him in rage and power and glory all at once, like turbulent waves come crashing down upon frail sand from an angry sea. Yet for all the rage and hatred and spite his master would shoot his way, there was also something far, _far_ worse that Mairon had to endure. Lust. Desire. Carnal needs. And as they would coil their way to his quivering heart, Mairon would shudder and sheepishly look back to his master.

None of them spoke of it though. A palpable tension between the two was left unspoken whilst Mairon sought to fulfill his duties. No matter how much Melkor’s will would press down upon him, threatening to crush his fëa, none of them would act upon the visceral desires boiling up inside of them. Mairon would excuse himself with a bow and would leave in haste after those… encounters. As weeks rolled by, the lieutenant could see it clearly: the fortress and its inhabitants slipped off their normal axis due to his master’s capriciousness, as Angband’s fate was tightly bound to its lord. His appetites seemed to swell by the day and, unfortunately for Mairon, he happened to be square in the Vala’s way to receive the blow.

His master sent word to him, requiring his immediate presence in the throne room. The lieutenant swallowed past a lump in his throat as he hastily discarded his forge garments from his earlier work and stepped into a bathtub. He carefully inspected the bruises mottled across his upper arms that _still_ had not healed since the last time Melkor called him to his private chambers.

_Immediate presence_. Mairon rolled the words in his head over and over again, hoping against hope that the meaning behind them was strictly related to formal business. Yet there was no room for him lying to himself that night.

“You absolute idiot…” the Maia murmured to himself and let his head dip completely in the water.

**XX**

It was cold enough in the throne room for his teeth to chatter faintly and, despite his natural -abnormal- warmth, all heat seemed drained from his body as he stopped at the base of the dais. A shaky breath tumbled past his lips when he finally found the courage to raise his look to his master. And there he was: clad in rich ebony silk bordered by golden embroideries and the heavy iron crown resting upon his brow, Melkor was seated majestically upon his throne. The sight nearly stopped the Maia’s breath in his lungs, though he would not admit to it.

A heartbeat passed in silence. And then another. Mairon’s slender fingers soon found the edge of his tunic and started to fidget with it in silent apprehension. And then Melkor _grinned_.

“Why are you here?” his master’s voice rumbled so suddenly that Mairon flinched. He quickly cleared his throat before speaking.

“You called me here, my lord,” he replied plainly as he prayed his master would not notice the colour rising in his cheeks. Damn him. They hadn’t even started.

His master grunted his assent as he outstretched his left hand in order to pick up his goblet from a small table and gulped down a generous amount of what Mairon assumed was wine. The Vala regarded him curiously, taking his time to observe him from head to toe. Mairon nearly melted under his gaze.

“My lord,” he began when the silence stretched on for too long once again, “if you need anyth-“

“What do you think I would need from you, dear lieutenant?” his master cut him off with surprising gentleness. Yet Mairon would not fall for it. It was but a mere cloak, a disguise for the danger lurking behind it. He knew that danger all too well and he made himself guilty of _adoring_ it.

He briefly looked for a proper answer, yet came up empty-handed. Instead he gritted his teeth, forcing his tense body to relax, regaining his composure.

“I reckon you have a mind to tell me.”

His master laughed at that. A dark, cruel, mirthless laughter, and a knowing, lascivious smirk twisted his mouth. Not knowing how to react to that, the Maia frowned slightly and clasped the edge of his tunic all the tighter. It was a cruel game that his master was playing. And though Melkor was not known for his patience, he always seemed overly eager to engage in long games of abstinence, teasing and taunting. Mairon feared his master acquired a great expertise in how to push the right buttons to make him squirm and gasp and frankly have him wrapped around his finger. Not that it was surprising in the slightest. Melkor always gains what (or who) he desires. Something fluttered low in Mairon’s belly at the thought.

What his master desires. _Who he desires._

His master sighed as he licked his lips like the cat who got the cream whilst his lieutenant fought to keep his breath steady. And then his master’s command was simple and clear: “Strip.”

And he did. With shaky fingers he unlaced the long cape tied to his robes, he unlaced his boots and struggled to discard the tunic and robes and breeches, until awfully naked and exposed he stood before his lord. The _thud-thud-thud_ within his chest was loud to his own ears and he dearly hoped Melkor would not try to reach out for his mind now unless he wished to behold a series of filthy images about violent face-fucking and grievous slapping.

Mercilessly enough for him to let out a sigh of relief, his master did not. Instead he beckoned Mairon closer with a crook of his finger, so the lieutenant hurried in front of the throne, though his steps were not carried out without reluctance. Danger shined maliciously in the Vala’s eyes, and like a moth drawn to the bright flames of the torches Mairon stared straight into his lord’s eyes. For it was there where he truly found his purpose in the intricate fate of Arda. From the very beginning this had been his destiny: to serve and obey his master in all things. The future was cruelly veiled from him and he knew not what the long war’s outcome would be. Yet his place was at his master’s side, now and always. This much he knew. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that _this_ is what he willingly chose, that _this_ is what he engaged into of his own accord, he couldn’t quite shove the lie down his own throat. For he did not. He did not choose this willingly. And it stung and burned to realise that his master cared little for his actual consent. Should he ever try to voice against their acts of intimacy, should he ever decline, his master would violently pin him down and forcefully take his pleasure with him. He still bore the marks of such _affections_.

Hard he locked his jaw when his lord reached out for him, snaking his ashen fingers up his sides and then back down. Pointy fingernails raked across his hips, leaving reddened furrows blossoming on his skin. Hard he fought to keep his breath even, to not give in to his own desire and pounce on his lord to worship him with mouth and tongue like he longed to. This abstinence, this _stubbornness_ of his would not aid him in concealing that which he wished to remain hidden as the sharp intake of breath and unbidden stir of flesh betrayed him once Melkor’s head lowered to his taut abdomen and -Valar be damned- kissed his way down to his member. Whatever composure he still clung to was quickly cast aside as soon as warmth enveloped his half-erect member and a little whimper must have surely escaped him, as he could clearly hear his master chuckle. The vibration of it against his cock sent a shiver down his spine and ‘yes’ he whispered, ‘y-yes’.

“F-fuck,” he mewled when his master grasped him by the hips and drew him closer, taking him deeper into his mouth, and his cock gave a sudden twitch of arousal. A deep flush touched his cheeks when Melkor removed his mouth with an obscene _pop_ and licked at his lips all the while smiling up at him. Perhaps this was not such a bad idea after all…

“Turn around, sweetness,” Melkor commanded, and Mairon obeyed. The tell-tale clink of a belt behind him made his knees weak. Much to his shame, it was arousal more than anything that sent his body trembling uncontrollably. Bloody, filthy desire and anticipation were left churning low in his stomach. It was almost blood-curdling : the way he instinctively reacted to even the vaguest hints of intimacy around his master.

A surprised yelp rang across the hall alongside the vicious slap his master delivered to his rear. Half embarrassed and half aroused beyond measure, he whipped his head about to frown at Melkor. The Vala, however, gave him little respite: brutally he grabbed the Maia by the waist and pulled him down atop his lap. An undignified whimper ebbed from the Maia, and seconds later the flush stretched to the very tips of his ears.

“Did you enjoy that, Mairon?”

_Enjoy what?_

Feebly Mairon struggled, without any real hope to prevail, until he fell still.

“I suppose you did,” he heard his master chuckle before pressing his lips to Mairon’s ear and mouthing ‘harlot’. Truly he wanted to protest then. Fiery flames started to crackle across his chest and arms, his horns glittered dark red, and he bared his sharp incisors in a threatening snarl.

Melkor brushed them all off. Faster than Mairon’s eyes could follow, his master brought his hand up to his throat and _squeezed_. Naturally, he panicked. He tried to scrabble at his master’s wrist to no avail. When at last his twitching subsided to pitiful choking sounds, his master seemed satisfied. Though he would not relinquish his grip.

“My lord-“

“Where are your manners now, Mairon?” his master tsked and licked a hot stripe from his neck to his left cheek, “I thought I’ve taught you better than this.” The grip tightened around his throat and much to Mairon’s horror, he could feel his master’s erection twitching against his backside.

“Please, my lord…” he bleated out when his lungs truly started to burn, yet Melkor would have none of it.

“What do we say when we do someone wrong, hmm?”

Shame blistered anew within him but left with little other option than obey, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“S-sorry,” he tried.

“Sorry for what, Maia?”

“F-for… uh… sorry for disobeying you…” he choked, and just when he thought he would lose consciousness and tears started to gloss over his eyelashes, the hand was gone from his sore throat.

His relief was short-lived though. All of a sudden his master forced his legs apart, and though heat burned bright in his loins, though desire churned in his bowels, so did anxiety. He bit his lip again whilst his master manoeuvred him into an uncomfortable and unusual position: both his calves hooked over the throne’s spiky armrests whilst his right arm was placed behind his master’s head for a better balance. Tightly his master drew him to his chest, until their faces almost touched. Thus, timidly he looked to his lord, his god, and this time it was _Mairon_ that grinned.

“What is it that you wish me to do, Mairon?” Melkor curiously inquired whilst he fetched a small vial of oil from his own robes and unplugged it. Unspeakable arousal seemed to devour Mairon as he watched his master pour a generous amount of oil on his fingers, and he licked at his bloodied lip.

“I want you,” he began as his master positioned his hand between his deliciously spread legs, “to fuck me hard and fa- _oh_!” His last words were lost in a whimper when he felt those well-slickened fingers enter him. He cursed, letting the filthy words drip from his mouth, and Melkor seemed to lick them all. Tasting them. Savouring them. In and out his master moved his fingers, and when they eventually hit that one glorious spot, Mairon _moaned_. A proper, shameful, wanton moan.

Melkor groaned in response.

“Do you like my fingers up inside of you?” his lord mumbled the words against his neck as he kissed and sucked a livid welt into the delicate skin there. Mairon could only nod, near delirious with pleasure as he was.

Unexpectedly, his master took his time to work him open. He moved his hand relentlessly, until his wrist tired of the movement, and then removed it. The beginning of a protest welled up inside Mairon’s throat at the sudden loss, but the ashen fingers were quickly replaced with his master’s cock.

His whole body tensed when he was breached in one long thrust. Hard he gripped his master’s shoulder for purchase, and his calves ached from the awkward position when Melkor finally started to move. His master fucked him in earnest, with hard, luxurious thrusts. He couldn’t help but wince and moan aloud every time the Vala hit that one bundle of nerves inside of him. And then greyed fingers forced their way inside his mouth, gagging him ruthlessly. With reckless abandon he sucked on them, spittle dribbling down his chin and the Vala’s forearm. He couldn’t quite remember when Melkor’s other fist came to close over his weeping erection, but what he did remember was how utterly _alive_ it made him feel. Ardour shrieked inside of him as his length throbbed and twitched in his master’s hand.

“P-please, my lord,” he murmured around his master’s fingers, “please, can I…?”

A litany of obscenities was licked at his ear and he came hard under the relentless ministrations; all his muscles tensed as one as he spurted his seed for his master and he could only twitch and allow himself to be swallowed by the intensity of it all.

Yet his master did not stop there. No, he kept going and going and going, despite his protests and discomfort. And no matter how hard he sought to dislodge the unrelenting fullness inside his guts, he felt himself growing hard once again. It was not long before his pelvic muscles clenched again and-

“F-fuck…” he swore under his ragged breath as he came desperately, urgently, _helplessly_. Across his master’s hand he spilled his seed again. And again and again he felt his master’s length slam into him as remorselessly his lord fucked him. Pain flared across his calves left dangling over the armrests. Like a prize, he thought as raw waves of seething pleasure coursed up through him. Like some obscene doll draped across his master’s throne, sprawled in his master’s lap. Like some petty sex-toy to be debased and used and abused on a whim. And oh how he _mewled_ with the glory of it.

Harder still his master’s shaft drove into him, and some unexplainable emotion burst to life as his master nudged against something exquisite inside of him, as the angle shifted, as the contact somehow deepened, and the hot squirt inside his bowels felt like sweet absolution.

He growled whilst the movement ceased, and a groan of both relief and desire punched out of his throat when at last his master slipped free of him.

Something prodded at his entrance -again- and before he had even the slightest chance to protest, it entered him with appalling ease. His brow furrowed in pain as the Vala’s finger inspected his insides, and it was all he could do not to scream when a second one was added and rammed up in his guts.

The fingers in his mouth were removed in order to be replaced by the ones that had been inside of him. He gagged at the bitter taste and shivered with the degradation of it. Come and oil and Eru knows what else swirled with his tongue, and his stomach gave a sudden spasm when Melkor buried his fingers down his throat. Fruitlessly he tried to remove the insistent pressure, yet it was not before the first flux of vomit threatened to come up that his master completely retracted his hand.

Coated in thick saliva and sticky-white fluids, he watched his lord’s hand wipe the mess across his abdomen. Despite the dirtiness and perversion of it, Mairon _smiled_.

“You did so well, Mairon. You did so well,” Melkor praised, and the Maia allowed himself to be dragged into a long embrace, followed by a deep, passionate kiss.

They spent the rest of the night together in his master’s chambers. It was long after Melkor had fallen sound asleep that Mairon peered at the dark clouds above. Nefarious things they were. Mairon thought it suited them well.


End file.
